Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap

by Cynthia Hamilton

  One of the best features of Saks was the valet parking in the rear. She could go in through the back entrance and any P.I. operating alone would have no other choice but to wait for her to exit the lot or follow her around the store. All she had to do is linger on the first floor long enough to determine if someone was lurking around her. That would be a risky move for anyone trailing her. Besides, she’d have to go back to her car at some point.

  She felt relatively sure no one would risk being noticed in the store. Her gut told her she’d be able to slip out the front entrance undetected and up the stairs to Burt Latham’s second floor office. The only unknown would be if she’d find him in or not. But she couldn’t take a chance trying to call him; for all she knew, her calls could be monitored.

  She dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, ballet flats and a long, shawl-collar cashmere cardigan. She added a pair of designer earrings and several bracelets. She packed her favorite Prada handbag and steeled herself for her mission.

  As she drove down East Valley Road, Madeline amended her plan to include a first stop at the post office. This would give her an opportunity to see if anyone was following her. After she angle parked, she pretended to search for something in her bag while she kept her eyes on the side view mirror, checking each vehicle that passed behind her. She was both alarmed and satisfied when Russell Barnett and his silver Honda Accord passed behind her car. She took a couple deep breaths and put her plan into action.

  Though she didn’t have any reason for going to the post office, she waited in the long line for fifteen minutes to purchase a book of stamps. For good measure, she walked along the storefronts, stepping inside a clothing boutique where she pretended to browse. As she suspected, the P.I. had parked several slots down from her Porsche. She caught a peripheral glimpse of him while he hid his face behind a newspaper.

  From the Upper Village, Madeline drove to Montecito Bank & Trust. The bank manager jumped to attention when she walked into the lobby. Madeline asked if she could speak to him in private. He graciously ushered her into his office. Fifteen minutes later, she departed, a cashier’s check for $20,000 tucked securely in her bag.

  Ordinarily, she would’ve gotten back into her car and driven to the next stop, but as her other bank was less than two blocks away, Madeline thought it best to walk and put her tail through his paces. She arranged for a confidential meeting with the assistant manager in one of the glassed-in offices. She explained that she had an existing account in her maiden name, which she wanted to keep that way. She turned over the cashier’s check for deposit and asked if she could convert her savings account to checking.

  “That would be no problem,” Adele assured her. “I can give you temporary checks to hold you over until some can be printed for you.” This threw Madeline off for a moment. She’d have to rent a mailbox somewhere before she’d have an address to use.

  “Thanks. I’ll have to postpone ordering any. I’m in the process of moving,” she added without elaborating further.

  “That’s no problem. Just give us a call and we can change the address in our system and place the order,” Adele said pleasantly. “Is there anything else I can assist you with, Mrs. Ridley?”

  “Yes, I need a credit or debit card for use with this account. And I’d like it to be in my maiden name. Can I get that now?”

  “Absolutely,” Adele said, rising from her chair. “Let me get this check deposited and I’ll activate a card for this account right now. It will only take me a few minutes. Can I get you some coffee or water while you wait?”

  “Water would be nice. Thank you.” Once Adele left the room, Madeline stood up on the pretense of examining the painting of Butterfly Beach behind Adele’s desk. This gave her the opportunity to glance around the office, see if Steven’s hired spook had followed her inside. She wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t, but it made her feel better to know for sure.

  Now that she had skimmed off a bit of pocket money, she felt a little more relaxed as she walked back to her car. It took a bit of looking, but she caught sight of the silver Honda parked a few spaces down Coast Village Road as she exited the parking lot.

  She didn’t bother to keep tabs on Mr. Barnett until she exited the 101 at Carrillo Street. As she stopped at the red light at De La Vina, she pretended not to notice his Honda in the right lane two cars back. She crossed Chapala and turned left into the parking lot behind Saks. Justin, the valet on duty, greeted her with his easy banter and backed her car into the closest spot, ready for a quick departure.

  Though shopping really was the last thing on Madeline’s mind, she had to at least make a show of browsing, if for no other reason than to make sure she hadn’t been followed into the store. It had suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t know for sure if Russell Barnett was a lone wolf or if he had associates he could call on to help with surveillance. After pausing to look at scarves and handbags, killing about five minutes and feeling fairly certain no one had followed her in, Madeline made her move.

  She pushed through the heavy glass door to the sheltered colonnade in front of the store. She turned left and walked inside the columns until Saks ended and the neighboring building jutted out, forcing her onto to the sidewalk for a few feet. The stairway up to the offices above the retail spaces came up so quickly, she nearly overshot it. She ducked in, glancing quickly at the directory to make sure she had the right location.

  She walked cautiously down the narrow hallway that housed an assortment of professionals, including an architect and a website designer. At the end of the hall, she found what she was looking for. She took a deep breath and turned the knob. The door was locked.

  Having made it this far only to come up empty-handed, Madeline suddenly lost a good bit of her courage. She had already assigned Burt Latham to the role of savior and protector; it was the hope of arming herself with her own investigator that had given her the wherewithal to take up the battle against Steven’s underhanded agenda. Not being able to engage an ally left her feeling as vulnerable as she did the day before, when her world collapsed and her husband turned into a sinister stranger.

  She tried the handle again; no luck. She could hear the muffled voices of the other tenants and their clients, but she saw no one. She rapped on the door and waited. Nothing. She tried again. As she was about to walk away, she caught sight of a notepad and a pen tied to a string on the far side of the doorjamb. She hesitated for a moment, then took the clipboard off the crude hook.

  The problem was she didn’t know what kind of message to leave. She didn’t want to give out her cell number, in case someone was keeping tabs.

  She was about to put the notepad back when she came up with another plan. She wrote out her name, the time, stressed the urgency of needing to meet with him, and that she would return in one hour. She folded the paper and slid it under the door.

  EIGHT

  “We just got those in—aren’t they fabulous?” the saleswoman asked as Madeline distractedly admired a pair of zebra-striped Manolo Blahnik sling-back heels. “Would you like to try them on, Mrs. Ridley?” Madeline looked at the shoe in her hand as if she didn’t know how it got there. She started to put it back on the display, but changed her mind.

  “Sure, Maryanne—why not? And while you’re back there, I’d like to try these as well,” Madeline said, handing her a jewel-encrusted silver slide.

  “Good choice. They look amazing on,” Maryanne said before disappearing into the back. Madeline let out a sigh and sank onto one of the leather chairs. After mulling over the situation, she realized that shopping for no reason was actually a good way to not only get back at Steven, but to lift her spirits as well. In fact, she should be going at this as though it were a competition sport, she decided, rising out of the chair to check out what other pricey delights were on offer.

  As winter was winding down, two racks had been placed on the showroom floor, b
oasting significant savings on boots and fancy holiday shoes. Madeline was in no mood for bargains; if she was going to sock it to Steven, she should go for the most extravagant footwear available.

  Besides, Madeline rationalized as she ran her eyes over the Chanel and Prada tables, high-ticket shoes like these could easily be converted to cash on eBay. This thought put her in the proper frame of mind. As soon as Maryanne returned from the stockroom, Madeline had five more decadent styles she wanted to try on.

  Before now, she had never fully appreciated the notion of “retail therapy.” But amplifying an urge that just came naturally gave her mood a huge lift. It was a perfect pastime, given the circumstances. If Steven bothered himself to keep tabs on her spending while he was in Dallas, then this was a very plausible display of inner turmoil.

  What other choices had Steven left her with, after branding her as an adulteress, declaring he wanted a divorce, and ordering her off the property by the time he returned? He had given her zero hope of reconciliation and no means with which to prove her innocence. He had effectively taken away the ability to look to friends for consolation; those photos of her were his guarantee of her silence. He’d even jammed a wedge between her and the help.

  So, faced with no other options, what could Madeline be expected to do but go shopping? She smiled as Maryanne teetered toward her with a wobbling tower of shoeboxes.

  Trying on footwear with wild abandon was an expedient way to kill time. In fact, when Madeline remembered her hoped-for rendezvous, she was aghast to find that she’d overshot the clock by ten minutes.

  “Oh shoot—I’ve got to run. You don’t mind holding these for me, do you Maryanne?” she said, as she wriggled back into her flats.

  “Not at all,” the saleswoman replied, glancing around at the piles of boxes strewn around her feet. “Which ones?”

  “All of them!” Madeline called out as she made a hasty exit.

  By the time she reached the last office suite, Madeline’s pulse was racing. What if she had missed him? What if he hadn’t returned yet? She was too anxious to even consider these possibilities. She took one ragged breath to calm herself, then tried the doorknob. It turned. She pushed the door open to find a tall, grey-haired man leaning against the front of his desk, arms folded across his chest, a mere trace of bemused curiosity on his face.

  “Mrs. Ridley, I presume?”

  NINE

  Madeline went momentarily weak with relief. Now that the unthinkable had been avoided, she took a second to compose herself.

  “That’s correct. And you must be Mr. Latham.”

  “Call me Burt,” he replied, as he beckoned for her to follow him into his private office. He casually seated himself behind the desk and motioned for Madeline to take a seat in one of the two visitor chairs. “I’m glad I popped by to get something this morning. I wasn’t planning on coming into the office today.”

  “Lucky for me,” Madeline said, easing herself into a chair.

  “So, Mrs. Ridley, how can I be of help?”

  Madeline felt her face grow hot as she reached into her tote for the manila envelope. She slid it across the table toward Burt Latham, but she didn’t let go of it. Burt leaned forward automatically to pick it up, but stopped short, his eyes meeting hers. Clearly, she felt the need for prior disclosure. She took a couple deep breaths for courage.

  “Can you give me your word that anything I reveal to you will be strictly confidential, between us and no one else?”

  “I absolutely guarantee it,” Burt said, sitting back in his chair, sending Madeline the message he didn’t intend to rush her in any way. She relaxed a little and let go of the envelope.

  “Before you look at these photos, I’d like to first give you some background.” Madeline glanced around and found what she was looking for. “Could I trouble you for some water?” Burt got up and took a paper cup off the stack, filled it with tepid water and handed it to her.

  “Thank you.” Madeline gratefully drank the stale-tasting water as she collected her thoughts. “Last Saturday evening, my husband and I attended a fundraiser at The Edgecliff. I was a co-chair of the event, so it was a working gala for me. My husband, Steven, was in an irritable mood on the way over, but I was too preoccupied to attach any significance to it.

  “Looking back, I recall that he seemed out of sorts throughout the dinner, and when the dancing started, he flat out refused to dance with me, which is totally out of character for him. I asked him if something was wrong and he snapped at me. When a man approached and asked me to dance, I did. I was happy for the diversion. I suppose this was not a wise move on my part, but given my position, I felt completely justified. It was part of my duties to keep the festivities going.

  “When the first song ended, my dance partner kept me on the floor. Like I said, this was a fundraiser, and for all I knew, this man—whom I’ve never seen before—could’ve been contributing heavily to our campaign. I danced through one more number with him, then begged off tactfully.

  “When I got back to our table, Steven was livid. In the twelve years I’ve been married to him, he’d never acted like that before. He read me the riot act for dancing with the man, called me all kinds of horrible names—just went off on me. I tried to calm him down. Honestly, I thought there might be something wrong with him. But everything I said seemed to infuriate him more.

  “He turned away from me mid-sentence and stormed out of the ballroom. I went after him, but the valet had kept his car at the entrance, so he was able to drive away before I could reach it. I stood there, debating whether I should grab a cab and go after him, but I couldn’t do that. I had an auction to oversee, so I went back inside.

  “As soon as I reentered the ballroom, the man I had danced with appeared with two glasses of champagne and a promise to make sure I got home safely. Even at the time, his offer struck me as a little odd. But I was so rattled by Steven’s departure, it didn’t make that much of an impression on me. Until yesterday morning.”

  Madeline motioned for Burt to look at the contents of the envelope. She watched uncomfortably as the detective removed the photos and rotated them so he could see them properly. One by one, he scrutinized them, glancing up at Madeline as he compared the subject’s features to those of the woman in front of him.

  “From the photos and what you’ve told me, it appears that one of two things occurred after your husband left,” Burt said, his forearms resting on the arms of his chair, his fingertips lightly balanced beside the photos. “Either you consented to have sex with this man, or you were drugged and have no recollection of what transpired prior to and during the photos.”

  “The latter,” Madeline confirmed.

  “When did you receive these?” Burt asked, leaning forward to grab a notepad.

  “Actually, my husband received them yesterday, at his office.”

  “Was there a demand made?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “How were they delivered?” Madeline shook her head. Burt sat back in his seat while he contemplated the direction this story was taking.

  “Does your husband know that you’ve come to see me?”

  “No.”

  “How did you come to be in possession of the photos?

  “Steven brought them to me at home, around 10:30 yesterday morning.”

  “What was his reaction?”

  “He was outraged and devastated. He wants a divorce. He ordered me out of the house by the time he gets back from a business trip on Saturday. He left for Dallas early this morning.”

  “What was your reaction to the photos?” Madeline choked on her answer. “It’s okay, take your time,” Burt said.

  “I was absolutely horrified.”

  “What happened after Steven left, after the man gave you the glass of champagne?” Again, Madeline found it hard to speak
.

  “I don’t remember. I can’t remember anything after that moment. Until I woke up, just before dawn in one of the cottage rooms at The Edgecliff.”

  “I take it you were alone then…”

  “Yes. And terrified. I had no idea where I was at first. I remember calling out for Steven, but I was alone…in bed…with nothing on.” She became silent as her gaze went inward.

  “Tell me anything else you can remember,” Burt coaxed her.

  “I remember this really awful taste in my mouth…and my head—it felt like it was going to split in half.”

  “What did you do once you figured out where you were?

  “I went into the bathroom, looking for Steven. I found my dress and put it on. My…my bra and panties had been torn to shreds… Um…I remember panicking about my jewelry…”

  “Was any of it missing?”

  “No, my diamond watch and bracelet were in my handbag, along with my credit card, driver’s license and phone. And a key to our beach house.”

  “What did you do next?”

  “I realized the key gave me a perfect cover story. I left through the French doors while it was still mostly dark out and was able to walk to our beach house without seeing anyone. I had a scalding hot shower, and around 9:30, after my head stopped pounding, I called Steven and told him I had stayed at the beach house because of the way he had walked out on me. Later, he picked me up and we went to brunch. It was like nothing had happened.”

  Burt sat back in his chair, his eyes fixed on a spot above Madeline’s head.

  “What do you think happened that night?” he asked.

  “I think I was drugged. I think I was drugged and…” Madeline’s bottom lip began to quiver. She bit it to keep from crying.